#voidwalkerpod

[Tape Begins] The Spider is dead.

This is Krishna Karna. This is day 6. I think. I'm starting to not believe that. 

I never really knew how much time was passing, I don't have a watch and my phone ran out of battery some time ago. I was going through my camera roll. I was crying. 

I don't want to be too self-congratulatory, but I think I did well. However long I've been here, I've kept my head up the whole time. I've done well. I had done well. 

I don't know what day it is. And- to be honest I never really did. I marked the days by my sleeping but I haven't slept in a long time. 

The spider is gone. 

The spider is dead. 

I ate the spider. 

It was going to die eventually, I know that. It made a frail attempt at a web before I grabbed it with two fingers and ate it. 

A spider is a majestic creature that spins web from almost nothing. A spider is a creator, a masterpiece that makes masterpieces. Don't think my actions deny the Majesty of Earth's blessings. 

I knew a man who spun poems from almost nothing. He spoke them like every other word, and I loved him for that. He was a masterpiece that made masterpieces. He taught me what Majesty truly looks like. He taught me how to treat it. 

I would rather have eaten the spider then watch it slowly wither away until one day I didn't feel its tapping on my legs.

It's better this way, I think. 

I feel stupid to only ask now but when will I wither away? I haven't been so much as thirsty since I first arrived here. There is no food. There's not even water.

Maybe the trauma of the situation has made me think it's been days when it's actually only been hours. They say goes fast when you're having fun and maybe the alternative of that is time screeching to almost a halt. 

No, I can feel the growing hair on my chin and cheeks. Prickly and thick.I was never able to really grow a beard it was always patchy. I've always shaved daily and I know by its length that it's been longer than a day. 

Maybe I was right in the beginning. I'm asleep and this is some twisted dream of my comatose state. I don't know if people in comas still dream.

I really hope they don't. 

My hair is greasier than when I first came. My clothes still stink of sweat. The toe I stubbed has healed. Time is passing; I'm changing. 

But I'm not hungry. 

I forgot what I wore here. I can feel it, but it's pattern is lost to memory. I try to think on the patterns my clothes had. I know they we're colorful but I don't know what colorful really means. The only color I can think of is the brilliant red from the little light. 

Maybe the light is feeding me. It ok.. it might sound stupid but- I guess it just feels right. Like the place where eating once would have been was replaced with these tapes. 

But, I know something, don't I? 

I know something that someone else wants to know, and they wanted me to record it. 

I'm not a very interesting man. I don't get into fights. What could I possibly know? 

Better yet, if they are willing to go to such lengths, am I willing to tell them? 

The... uh.. Warden of this prison.

The warden wanted me to record tapes. 

That much has always been obvious. (chuckle) Why else give them to me in the first place 

Maybe they just wanted to see what it would do to a man or maybe there's something they needed to hear. 

...

I have half a mind to destroy these tapes but- haha, it wouldn't help, would it? And these tapes, this recorder. If my crazy hunch was right, would I starve without them?  

Am I willing to take that chance?  Am I willing to die?

....

I don't even remember sight. I can recall adjectives. I know what they meant and what they made me feel but I couldn't tell you what they look like. 

How pathetic is that? If it really has just been 6 days, and I've already forgotten what seeing was like. 

I know it's been longer though. 

I wanted to tell a story about Malaysia. I can tell you she's smart and sweet but I don't even know what she looks like. I know the way she smiled felt like fresh sun. I know her eyes were moonlight, but the composition of her face is lost on me. 

And Santano, my Santano. I know he's the most beautiful man I've ever seen, both in body and spirit but the soft curves of his face are lost on me now. I remember the songs Santano would sing to me. I remember his face like a melody, like a poem. But I can't see it. 

Although this knowledge is burdening it only gives me more motivation to rip myself from this place and see them again. I need to let this fill me with strength. I NEED TO LET THIS-

(hit)

...

(sniff)

i… I need to see them again. 

i need to see them

(crying)

I can't remember my mothers face. I can't remember what she looks like. I-

I...

~~~

I have a promise to fulfill. 

I didn't forget about our promise Santano! 

I didn't forget about our promise!

I will remain hopeful; I am hopeful; I am so hopeful for you

Santano, I will return to you. I will keep our promise. 

I will hear you play my mothers song

I will see the soft curves of your face

I will listen to the poems you spin

I will be enveloped with your warmth

I will. 

I will.

I will. 

Its so dark

Good morning. It's Krishna again. 

My hands are all chalky from all the digging. I think my sweat and the small bits of crushed stone have started collecting on my fingertips. I don't mind. It makes me feel connected to this place. All this time, however long I've been here, it's changed me as much as I've changed it. 

There's poetry in that. 

Hee hee hoo hoo

I feel alive, I feel so alive. I'm living and breathing and I'm sweaty and cold, the stone is harsh on my body and I love it. 

I love this place like a home and I hate who put me here. The feelings swirl in the pit of my stomach and it makes me want to laugh.

I feel the Earth, not physically but mentally. If I focus enough on my memories of dirt and cobbled stone and how they make me feel I can start to understand it. I'm remembering so many things. Things I never knew I forgot.

The visuals are all gone but I think I'm starting to understand my memories deeper than I did a moment ago. I think something's changing in me. I don't know if that's good or bad. 

(laughter)

There's a hole in the wall. It's (cath- cathartic? yeah) cathartic to take out this- anger (anger? no not anger) this - i don't know this feeling-- but It's so nice to let myself devulge into mindless hitting.

I wonder if that's how the people in the hole felt. Mindless like a colony of ants feeding into the whims of its Queen. Our queen. My queen!

Malaysia used to ask me why I like bugs so much. There are many reasons to like bugs. 

So many people think that bugs are pests and they refuse to see how beautiful they can be. I like spiders, especially the Daddy Long legs. I always thought that they- that it was a funny name and i remember they always looked so silly. 

Santano prefers worms. He likes them writhing in the core of the Earth, utterly entombed in its Majesty. 

I like the fur of moths and I love the sounds of crickets and cicadas. 

I love how bugs are so complicated even though they're so small. They can have hundreds of little tiny limbs or delicate antennae. 

Bugs have a lot to offer. I think people are scared of them so they don't try and look closer. I always liked looking closer. 

Have you ever lifted up a large rock and found bugs underneath? I don't mean one or two, I mean a colony. Have you kicked an ant pile and seen floods of them ooze out as if a physical manifestation of the beating heart of there colony? Have you felt your foot slowly become covered in creatures until it was an unidentifiable writhing mass of bug?

My favorite thing about bugs is that theres a lot of them. 

My old house had termites. We knew for a while, I could tell what they were from the pictures in my library books. My mother told our landlord time and time again but she always refuted. Then, one day, my mother saw one fly from behind her piano, so she moved it to see. The back side of it was gone. It was an insectoid pool spurting out flying creatures every way. They dispersed and made every wall look like it moved. 

My mother took my hand instinctively as if to quelm a fear she assumed I had, but I had never had been happier than that moment. 

They move as one. They all move as one, mindless in their movements, and that is why they succeed. We should be all a bit more like them.

When you hear this, you, the Warden of this prison. Know your not beyond saving. Listen to my words. Listen to the poetry. Listen to the Earth. 

I hope you put me here for revenge. I hope you feel- that you feel that lovely feeling seeing me struggle. I hope You're So satisfied as I lose direction like a spiral of ants. But I will return to my queen, he is waiting on me. 

(panting) 

You are not yet beyond saving. And as much as I hate you for doing this to me I want nothing more but to share our lovely plight. 

Santano would be so proud of me if he knew the rage I felt today. And I hope he does see me. No, he will see me soo- 

(tapes falling on the floor)

No! 

No no no-  The- the tapes. Warden, I have more to say to you but- No I - gosh I need to get these in order. 

[Panicked] 

There not broken are they? They- no no, none of them are broken. I'll get them back in order

Back in order in their little stacks. 

ok

~~~

No, no, 

Something happened 

The fifth one is gone. something must have happened when I was recording it or when I tripped. It's just. One of them is just static. No it's just static. (No no no) just static. Static. STATIC. 

[sob]

I'll get out. I'll get out. . And I LOVE this place and I hate it so much and I'll get out. 

out out out. 

And Malaysia will be there. And Santano will be there. And there will be no more static

and we'll all be so happy. My community. Its holes. It's rage. I'm going to get out. I'm going to spin webs of truth and rage and braid them together. 

my eyes will see every color my mind has forgotten. 

I'll get out

Voidwalker, Episode 2 [Tape begins] H- Hello! It's Krishna Karna again. I just woke up, so I guess this is day two. I'm sweaty- cold sweats i think. I don't know if I'm the only person that gets those- but- anyways Part of me was expecting to just wake up back at my house but I'm still here judging by the complete darkness. I was cradling the tape recorder when I woke up, and I thiiink i remember talking into it last night. It's a bit hard to keep a steady timeline. But anyways, on a normal day I wake up in my bed and then get dressed and brush my teeth and set off for the day. Those little rituals and all the changes of what's going on around me makes it easy for me to recount when everything happens. And surely clocks and the rising and setting Sun help too. Now, it's a bit like I'm spending all day in my room. It's a bit like after my mother... 

{his voice dims a bit} passed away. {goes back to trying to sound happy}

I got understandably sad, and on my work leave, and found it easiest to just sit in my room and do nothing. I don't regret -but- it- felt the lack of routine made my days hard to differentiate.  It's only natural, our minds crave structure.  If I'm going to be stuck here for a while, I should make a structure of my own. I mean, I can meditate and maybe do some stretching or exercising. I'm sure some aerobatics would make me feel less cold. I could make up some stories or poems and really practice my creativity. Get those jucies flowing! It kinda reminds me of–.and I know it might seem unrelated but- when I first saw the movie groundhog day, I didn't take it in a way of existential dread. Malaysia told me that it made her so scared to wake up on the same day. She was so… so terrified to lose the impact her actions had.  [Static stops suddenly]

… Oh, I should be honest, it wasn't the movie Groundhog Day. It was this little show we were shown in school about learning safety with a bear and each time he would do something unsafe he would wake up to the same morning. It's- well it's essentially a Groundhog's Day situation. Plus, that's a way more recognizable name. I barely remember the first one anyways.  She was also a little scared of the bear puppet so I'm sure that didn't help. Golly haha, she cried after class was done and I gave her a hug. I told her it was ok but it was kinda an empty statement. I always thought getting stuck in a Groundhog's Day situation would be awesome. Sure, it would eventually wear on me, but it was an opportunity to learn so much. I was a bit of a gifted kid (If you couldn't tell). Never as smart as Malaysia, but definitely smart. I thought if I had days or weeks just to learn I could get ahead of everyone else. I thought I could spend years on the same day reading every book in the library and once I finally cracked the code and made it to the next day I would be so smart and popular! I may not be in a Groundhog's Day situation, but that doesn't mean I can't learn. I don't have a library of books but I have myself.  And- Look, I may not be a Buddhist but I always found the idea of being able to understand the world just by understanding yourself to be… mesmerizing. I think that's what Buddhism is at least. I hope that isn’t offensive. It's comforting treating all of this like an opportunity. It feels less taxing. 

... Maybe I should try meditating. I'll get back to you when I'm done.

~~~ [Tape begins]

[the section has rhythmic hitting sounds]

Hey Krishna back. I think meditating helped. Probably not how it's intended to help but it definitely helped. I mean I feel so stupid not thinking of it before but I'm going to dig a hole. It's like one of those prison escape movies. I mean it probably is. I have a big cement wall and all the time in the world and I don't have to worry about any guards finding me because I'm all alone!  I don't know if it's going to work or not but it's the best shot I have and it gives me something to do. I'm using this corkscrew right now. It's part of my Swiss army knife and the way it pulls out gives me the rest of it to hold as a handle. I think it's meant as a bottle opener, but right now it's- it's uh..... well not sure what I'm using it for. I think in the movies they used it like- a nail file, although I doubt that would do me any good if I don't have anything with leverage. I think it's working. I can feel little stone- stone pebbles- chunks shoot out back on my face. I'm glad I don't have to worry about any getting in my eyes. I can close them just fine, it's not like they were helping me see.  I've gotten into a good- ptooey!- sorry, a bit got into my mouth. Not the greatest flavor. I've gotten into a good rhythm here. It feels kind of like dancing. Actually, it's hard to say but it reminds me of a song I know.  When I was a boy, my mum would put me on her lap and play a song. It didn't have a name. She would just hit the keys in a way she liked. It was soothing. Soft. Beautiful. I think it grew up alongside me. It became a song. A simple one. In actuality, I don't think my mum ever knew how to play the piano; she just knew how to hit the notes in a way that sounded nice. They had character, they had form. 

…

Transcript:

Voidwalker, Episode One

[Tape Begins]

Hi, my name is- Krishna Karna and I'm stuck in a building. Today I woke up in a pitch black room, and I thought for a while that I was still asleep- but I'm starting to believe that this isn't a dream. I’m still wearing my day clothes and in my pockets I still have my wallet and my phone and my keys-- even my Swiss Army knife, but my phone was only at 50% when I first checked. And... at first I tried to look for a door with the flashlight but I couldn't find anything and I started thinking that I was kidnapped, so I tried to call the police, but I don't have any Wi-Fi or cell service. (ringing) I saw this video about survival skills once and it said that you should try and call 911 even if your phone says it doesn't have any cell because other cell providers might pick up the signal or well something like. I don't really know how that all works, but I tried anyways- wherever I am, my phone just doesn’t work. 

And then- So I used the flashlight to look around a little bit better- and then I realized how weird this place is. I mean, every wall and the floor and the ceiling- all pure cement. There's no holes or exits except for a small vent up by the ceiling. I'm glad the vent is there so I don't end up- uh?- suffocating in a big cement brick... it's not big enough for me to fit through. I thought I was so smart to carry a swiss army knife to unscrew it before i realized that- even if it had screws I wouldn't be able to fit anything more than my hand in there.

Yet- I thought, somewhere was an exit. Even if it was locked it would be somewhere to start. I mean (hah) how could they have gotten me into here without a hole somewhere large enough to fit a person. So I looked around.

Thing is, there isn't much here for an exit to be hiding by. There's a pile of tapes, maybe 40 of them (I didn't exactly count) and then there's a tape recorder and a spring mattress. Other than that the room is completely barren and it's not very big. My first instinct was to start checking if there was anything recorded on the tapes. Part of me just thought that maybe there would be riddles for me to solve to get out but all the ones I checked were blank. I guess it was a little silly to think (haha). But uh- I don't know- I checked under the pile of tapes and the mattress to see if either had trap doors, but both are just the same cement as everywhere else. The mattress isn't in the best condition- but it's better than sitting on the floor. 

After I looked around, I turned my phone off because just using the light drained my battery by like 20%, and whenever I get out of here and to somewhere where I can call the police, it would be a lot easier to have my phone on me. But... without the flashlight though this room is dark. Like, entirely Pitch Black. I’m kinda glad that I have never been scared of the dark. This would probably be hell on Earth if I was, but it's just a little bit inconvenient. Actually the pure darkness is a little bit… soothing. Maybe I should consider this my chance to start meditating! It will make me a better person when I get out, at the least. I don't know. I don't know how I'm going to get out but I know I will. I just know it. For my Community! and for Malaysia. [Static Begins] She's probably worried sick that I'm gone. I can't just keep her worried like that. 

There isn't really much to do here but I figured since there's a tape recorder and a bunch of seemingly empty tapes all I really can do is record. When I get out of here, maybe there could be a documentary where they use all of these clips of audio. That would be nice. And then I’d get a hefty check from whoever ends up making it. 

Mhm- But- For now, I'm going to check the rest of the tapes. I don't know if any of them have anything on them but I might as well check because there isn't anything else for me to do. I'll report back my findings!

[Tape Begins]

Hey, Krishna here, I mean obviously it's me because- duh!- I'm still completely alone here- haha. Ok, ok but in more serious news there was nothing on the rest of the tapes. I think I checked them all, but I have to feel my way around in here because there aren't any lights. I kind of wish I invested in one of those light up keychains - you know the ones that last like.. forever? I felt around the room and I couldn't feel any tapes that I missed, so I organized the ones I had. I have a stack for the one I'm recording this on, that's where any tapes I'm currently recording are going to go. Then, I have a stack (well it's not a stack) but I have a place where a stack might eventually go for tapes that have already been recorded on. Then on the other side I have two stacks of the empty tapes. 16 of them had absolutely no sound on them whatsoever and then 18 others had some static. I decided I'm goinna- I'm going to use the empty ones first. I’m still not completely over the secret code idea, so if there's some evidence on here that can tell the police can decode, I don’t want to record over them. 

I can't stop thinking about how glad I am that I'm not scared. Oddly enough, I'm not that worried at all. I'm sure those feelings are going to catch up with me eventually, but right now, I'm just enjoying feeling good about this all. [Slow piano] I've always been a little weird like that. In middle school, I didn't have any friends because I would always talk about how cool I found bugs. When I was smaller, I think people saw a little kid covered in mud carrying worms was endearing, but as I got a older people I just became a weird kid. I didn't really care what they thought of me. I had my mum and Malaysia, and that was enough for me. 

That isn't to say I like the dark. It's making all of this a lot harder than it would otherwise would have been. Like when I was making those stacks, I knocked them down like three times (hah!). Eventually, I'm going to get a lay of the land and understand the dimensions of this room. It shouldn't be too hard because there aren't that many things to remember but… well, working without vision is pretty hard. Not much more to say on that matter. 

Whenever I'm recording, there's a little red light on the tape recorder. It's a little dim because this thing seems to be pretty old and it doesn't illuminate anything else in the room, but it gives me something to look at. I guess it's a little comforting for me. 

I don't know why anyone put me in here. Feels like a lot of trouble to go through. I think they must have built the prison around me–at least partially. I don't know what I did to make them want to do this. I'm not a rude person and I don't get into fights or violence! I actually like to think of myself as quite a nice person. 

But- Like- Even- I think my life's kinda boring- and That's not a bad thing. I absolutely enjoy my quiet happy life. I have my community. I have Malaysia. (She's a very sweet girl). And, sure, part of me will always wonder what life would be like if I was magically super interesting and traveling around the world, but I'm content... I- I was content, atleast. 

Gosh

I wish I wore a jacket when I got here. It's cold. Not like a big freeze, but cold enough that- it would make you want to bundle up. I wish there was a blanket on this mattress. I'm still thankful though! I'd rather this room be just a little too chilly than to be blistering in heat. I'm thankful that they gave me something to do. They left me with my clothes and my belongings and they gave me somewhere to sleep. As far as being kidnapped goes, this isn't that bad. 

And! When I get back, I'll have a big meal. Mal can make her empanadas, and I'll make kottu roti. My community is all sure to be happy that I’m safe. Maybe they will throw a party for me. That would be nice. All my friends together. But right now-

(yawn)

Maybe… Maybe I should try and go to bed. Going through all those tups- tapes took me a while and I would think better with a clear head. So- goodnight! 

[Tape Begins]

Krishna again. Can’t get to sleep, and there's just not much else to do here except for record so I think I'm going to talk a little bit more. I'm a little confused on why whoever put me here didn't just kill me. All of this effort for what? And why leave me with things if I can't use them. They're just teasing me at this point. 

It's still cold and every minute I go without waking up makes it more obvious this isn’t a big dream. Gee wilickers- I feel like I'm grasping at straws. 

But I need to remain hopeful, and I'm going to remain hopeful because there are people relying on me getting out… but... How am I going to do that? All I have is a tape recorder. (Uhg.)  

If by some chance I don't get out and it's years later and they need to break this thing open with excavator or a bulldozer or whatever they use to break concreate open, and when they get here, I'm not still alive, and tapes are all there is left of me…

…Well, I don't know what I should say. I feel like I’m deciding my last words. I think I was a good person and I think I had my good life.

If Santano is still alive, tell him I'm sorry we couldn't fulfill our promise. And tell Malaysia that I love her, although I'm sure she already knows. She's a smart girl

I know I… no, No I- I'm not going to give up I'm going to have to find a way to get out. There's people waiting for me on the outside of these gosh darn stone walls.

I'll get out. And I will. I'll get out- For them. I have to. 

Hello. It's Krishna again. I have a story for you. 

Once there was a man who spun poems out of almost nothing. He was a masterpiece who made masterpieces. 

I asked him how he did it.

His mouth was like dexterous hands braiding thin threads into existence. I don't remember what it looked like when he spoke. I don't remember what mouse or hands look like at all. I only remember the feeling. I'm becoming more content with that. 

He told me he made everything poetry because everything already was. He told me there was poetry in the russell, the leaves and grass between your toes. 

He told me that many people didn't see it. He told me to see it. 

Of course, I saw it with more of my eyes. Gosh, my whole body saw it. I guess a better word would be that I felt it. I felt it and heard it and smelled it and tasted it. 

The earth is a masterpiece that makes masterpieces. 

He told me it was all a gift. The earth gifted us life and that we must repay our debts to it. Not in the way of nature but instead the soil that grows from. The rock and dirt that clods together to make all we know. 

He told me the earth was sleeping. He took my hand in his and he showed me a book of poems. 

I remember that I didn't know what the shapes represented. I remember the smell of the pages, like soil and river water. 

Santano gave me my community when I had none. We dressed in cloaks and heard his poems each day. I don't remember how many of us there were. I didn't count on ever having to. 

But, there were enough to fill a room.

And out of all of them, I was his favorite. 

I could recall his sermons in perfect detail, every word, every idea. What beautiful ideas from a beautiful, beautiful man. 

The earth gives us life. The earth let us take it. Nature itself is a gift for us. It would be... unwise not to appreciate it. 

A woman from my community took me hunting once. I was squeamish with the idea of blood but she told me the blood was just as much as a masterpiece as the deer itself. 

I don't think people often see it that way. For a while I didn't see it that way either. 

Santano helped me to see. To see not only the beauties of nature but the beauty of everything we make of it. Of the rigid edges of a city or the swirl of oil and water. Everything was beautiful because everything was earth. He spoke in poems because he got to see it all as poetry.. and I only wish to be like that. 

I think my time meditating has helped me to begin to understand. 

There is poetry in this darkness. In the cold cement floors and the sharp metallic smell.  

There is poetry in the way that little red light dances through it all, swirling and passing by as the only cut from the infinite depths of black. There is poetry in the way that that little red light is the only thing I can see, the only thing I can ever think to see, my only reminder of what vision is.

…

I never liked red. It was too harsh of a color for me. Now it’s the only color I could even think of… How ironic is that?

....

....

My community was small. We could all fit in a single room. We often sat in pews. Our size let us only grow closer to one another. In hardships and success we all knew one another. 

My community dug. They all dug a hole deep into the Earth. The hole was much older than them.  

They never grew tired. Their arms never grew weary. The earth gave them strength.

I remember why they dug, Santano told me, but I never had to dig. I was his favorite. I got to sit and watch. On occasion I got to preach. I remembered what I preached. 

I had a job in my community. I threw parties. I loved my community and they loved me. 

There was a melody to it, a certain rhythm. There's a certain rhythm to many things.  ...

Do you ever wonder if we invited art? Music, rhythm, poetry. Did we as humans create it or did we discover it? 

I think most people would say the former. Most people think that art is a strictly human subject. I know now that they are wrong. 

My mother played a song for me but she did not make it, she discovered it. Each note desperately searching for the path to its completion. She wasn't a creator, she was a navigator. Her song was a gift from the earth. She just didn't know it.  (ringing)

My mothers death was sudden. One day she was working and the next she was in the hospital. And then the next, she was gone. It was hard on me but Santano told me of life everlasting. I met Santano not long after my mother died, you know? I met him on a Wednesday. I remember the day we met. Well, it was the best day of my life. 

The sky was flush and gorgeous. I wish I could picture it. It was sunset but it was still hot and murky. I was waiting at a bus stop after work, my hands gracing the metallic seat for the soft coolness that remained trapped inside. I couldn't drive, golly, I still can't. I'm glad I never learned though. 

I didn't see Santano come, I only noticed that he had been there. I gave him a big smile in a wave as I would with any stranger, told him "Hi, how are ya?"

He smiled. His words were poetry, words so beautiful I remember exactly what he told me. 

It made me smile. He smiled too. 

I'm smiling now just thinking about it. It's so cold, so very cold in this room and yet the smile plays a song of heat on my cheeks.

I don't remember the looks anymore, but I remember the feeling. My cheeks were as flushed as the sky playing that same song of heat. The heavy humidity and deep heat made my shirt stick slightly to my chest. 

I remember everything we told each other. Every word of it sings to the song of my life. 

I had to go home, Malaysia would be worried sick if I was late and my bus was there. 

I shook his hand. It tangled into mine for a brief moment. Despite the heat his hands were like cool stone. They were smooth like tumbled rocks. My hands in turn were moist with sweat as if the humid temperature had become me. 

I walked onto my bus, sure to absorb that same glint of coolness from the metal bar I held onto, and for just a moment again, I turned back to him. 

I was expecting him to be gone, just a whim of the mind who came and went without a trace, but he was still there, still waving with a soft smile. It was only at that moment I realized how tired he looked. 

...

...

Voidwalker, Episode 3 [Tape Begins] Hi! Krishna Karna here!  I didn't sleep very well last night, not at all actually! but I am assuming that I've laid in that bed for a very long time and so now it is a new day. Day three, tape three! The hole is going swell, well, great, and phenomenal. I mean, it's a long process and my arm hurt all the time from the hitting, but I think I can feel an indent in the wall! I came up with a routine also! Routines are important! So, I decided to get up, stretch, and then jog in place until my legs are tired. Then, I can sit down and record my tape. After that, I'll dig my hole and- Oh- uh that kinda sounds inappropriate (and I don't know how to reph-)... I mean I'll keep working on my exit route. I realize it'll probably going to be easier to dig for longer if I do a little with each arm, so I'm doing that. Then I meditate! If I'm not tired enough to go to sleep yet, I can record a little more on my tape or maybe make up some stories with myself. Something fun- keep the mind working.  I've already done my stretches and jogging, and I have to say it makes me feel a ton better! And I'm finally getting used to this cold! The first night I had to curl up into a little ball and I put my arms in my shirt. Good thing I buy them big, haha! 

(sigh) Ok, that's good, positive affirmations! Let's see. I'm strong, I'm happy, I'm loved, and I'm going to get out of here in no time!  Whooo, I mean, staying positive is great but you know venting my troubles a little can't hurt, so I'm tired and my arms still hurt from last night. [ominous sound] Um, I miss people, like all people. I miss the sun, that's something. And I miss light, and I miss my bed and I miss my... friends. I miss Malaysia... a lot... like alot alot. You know what, let me try to call the police again. Maybe there was some sort of problem with a cell tower when I tried last. Yeah ok. I still have my phone

[distant voice] Where did I leave- there it is. Wowwie, color, did I sure miss you. You know, I really can't describe how relieved I am to see something other than the little red light. Ahhaaha!! Ok, oh look that's me and Malaysia as teens, it's my lock screen. I'm not even going to log in though because I can't get distracted I'm just going to go to the emergency callll-

dial 9-1-1....

[beeps and boops and sorts]

[dial tone] and- and?

[odd tone that definitely doesn't happen whenever you don't have cell service but Krishna doesn't know that he's kinda dumb] Nope, still not working. Well, it was worth a shot. Turning you off now! Bye Malaysia [weary] Hahaaa (sigh) Ok, that was fun, that was nice, what else to do? Mmmm, Oh! What about a story? I have one. I wasn't a very popular child at school, and like I said before, I was ok with that! Still, sometimes I dreamed about one day magically becoming super popular with everyone at school. My mum tried to get me up hip outfits and cool hairstyles, but she always struggled. Most of my clothes were secondhand and she was always the one to cut my hair. She was a single parent-- worked two jobs and cleaned the houses of our better off neighbors on the side. When she was at home, she was always exhausted.

(pause) Kids made fun of my clothes.  Kids made fun of me for a lot of things. Haha. My school was small and overly whelming Christian. I'm- well- well- I was Hindu. My mother was too. I never told anyone but somehow it came out and ... {pensive, his facade falters} and And one day during recess I remember being pushed. A kid said that I was evil. That I worshipped the devil. He said I needed to go away. Then he cut my hair.  I think I had a bowl cut, but he held my head up by a fist grasping the bulk of my hair. I remembered how he used to safety scissors because of the arduous struggle as I tried to escape.  Gosh I.... I remember going back to my mom. She was tired and laying in bed. I sat on the foot of my bed- of the bed. And I remember being so small, curled up in a ball. I was only 8 at the oldest. I asked her if we were evil- if we were bad people because of the people we prayed too.  My mom sat up in bed. I remember looking at her eyes. I remember thinking she was so... tired. She always looked so tired.  She wasn't shocked by my hair. I don't know if she just didn't notice or she was too tired to react. She patted the quilt that laid on her lap and I scuttled up to sit there.  And she said "Babu, do you know why me and your father named you Krishna?" I shook my head and she said, "It's because you are good. That name represents all the compassion and love you have inside of you, and all the love I have for you." She pressed me to her chest and hugged me. Looking back I find it amazing that she went through so much and yet she was so gentle.  ... Shucks, maybe that wasn't the best story to tell. I should (sniff) I should go. 

[Tape Begins] [Steps] Krishna back! I'm feeling better. I did my digging and I made some great progress today but I think this wall is a bit thicker than I thought it was which is fine! I'll make it through.  I did meditating and I tried to head to bed but I couldn't get to sleep so I figure instead of just layin there, I can do some thinking on how I got here. I'm also pacing a bit. Walking always gets my mind-- running, and I have just enough space here to make some laps.  Of course my first idea is that I wronged someone. I don't remember wronging someone enough to warrent... all of this? Maybe I forgot. They didn't want money, i still have everything in my wallet, and if they wanted something at my house, Malaysia still lives there. They would have to- No, no that doesn't make sense, they wouldn't have put me here just to rob my house- they could do that so much easier.  Maybe they wanted to see how far they could push me? Maybe they are helping me and I should be thanking them. 

But whoever did -- this, all of this, I'm not happy with you. I'm very mad. You. I.

I don't want to be mad and I know whatever drove you to do this was probably something horrible but Santano says I need to stand up for myself.  And I don't think I can forgive you. I don't think i SHOULD forgive you. I want to but... this is messed up! And the people at my-

(sound of stumbling and toe stubbing)

{next line peaks mic} AHG! FU- FIDDLESTICKS